Not The Reunion They Had Imagined
by ElemPsychNCIS1
Summary: Post-Reichenbach Fall. Sherlock is roaming the streets of London with his American half-sister, being her personal tour guide, when a man comes out of nowhere and shoots Sherlock. St. Bart's is to far away and Sherlock can't risk the attention. So where do the siblings go, when time is running out? BigBrother!Sherlock Possible John/OC. Reviews are appreciated
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock's Side:

It had been three years since Sherlock Holmes had faked his death. Now after disassembling Moriarty's web and hiding out in a sleepy city in Florida, he was back in London.

Sherlock had decided on bringing his younger half-sister, Jenna, and show her what she had missed out when her mother took her away after the divorce. Since she had helped him hide from the world.

The siblings were sitting in Angelo's, enjoying dinner and talking quietly and rarely.

Jenna, who was a lot like Sherlock in many ways, was particularly quiet.

"I can hear you thinking," Sherlock said after to much quiet passed. "What's on your mind?"

"Memories," Jenna replied. "From when I was still living here."

"You probably don't have many of those," Sherlock stated.

"Sherly," Jenna scolded, "I remember when Mycroft thought it would be funny to see if I could fly. I was two. I remember more than you think."

"Why would you bother to remember that?" Sherlock asked curiously.

"Unlike you, I can't delete memories or things that aren't of any importance," Jenna stated. "I have to carry the memories I don't want with me everywhere I go."

Sherlock glanced out the window and noticed a few familiar faces looking at them from across the street. One of them looked like Anderson.

"We need to get out of here," Sherlock said, as he stood up and placed some money on the table.

Jenna nodded and stood up as well, grabbing her purse and coat.

Two minutes later the sibling duo were down the block and out of spotting distance.

"When are you going to tell someone you're alive?" Jenna asked.

Sherlock didn't answer. He was taking in the familiar surroundings.

"We're on Baker Street," Sherlock said quietly.

Before either sibling could say anything else a man came out from a alley, pointing a gun at them.

"Empty your pockets now!" the man ordered.

"I don't have anything to give you," Sherlock said calmly. "Even if I did, I wouldn't give to someone who needs money for a hit of heroine."

It was true, Sherlock had nothing in his pockets. He had come home with only a suitcase filled with clothes and some money. The rest of the money, which wasn't a lot, had gone to Angelo's. Nothing else.

The thug pointed his gun at Jenna and said, "Empty the purse, sweetheart."

"There's nothing in it you want," Jenna said.

"American," the man stated.

"Amazing, even as high as you are, you were able to place her accent," Sherlock muttered.

The thug obviously hadn't heard Sherlock and continued to talk, "An American and a Brit, together for an evening stroll. To bad it has to end."

The thug aimed his gun at Sherlock again, fired and ran off.

The impact of the bullet, knocked Sherlock to the ground.

Jenna was on her knees in seconds, already placing pressure on Sherlock's wound.

"How far away is the nearest hospital?" Jenna asked, worry evident in her voice.

"To far. I'd bleed out by time we got there," Sherlock said. "Even if he only just hit me in my shoulder."

"What are we going to do?" Jenna asked.

"221B," Sherlock replied.

"What's that?" Jenna questioned.

"It's toward the end of the street on the other side," Sherlock answered.

"John Watson," Jenna said, starting to get what her older sibling was saying.

Sherlock nodded as he pushed himself up into a sitting position.

"If we're lucky, he's there right now watching the telly with Mrs Hudson," Sherlock said. "Hopefully, he'll get past his the shock of seeing me and help."

* * *

After much co-ordination, Jenna had gotten Sherlock to his feet, and to 221B.

Jenna rang the bell, while Sherlock leaned heavily on her. The wound was taking a toll on the detective consultant's energy and strength to stand on his own.

A few minutes passed and the door opened. The siblings were greeted by a short elderly woman.

"Hello Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock said wearily as he looked at the woman.

"Oh my. Sherlock," Mrs Hudson said as she stared at him.

"Please tell us that John Watson is here?" Jenna asked.

"He moved out two months ago," Mrs Hudson replied.

"Where is he?" Sherlock asked.

"He'll be here in twenty minutes to finish packing the rest of the stuff," Mrs Hudson answered.

"Call him and tell him to hurry up," Sherlock said. "It's an emergency."

Mrs Hudson nodded and allowed the siblings in.

"Put him on the couch upstairs," Mrs Hudson said, once they were inside. "I'll go make that call."

* * *

Sherlock was now laying on the couch in his old flat, while Jenna had resumed adding pressure to his shoulder. It had been thirty or so minutes since the thug had shot him. He was sure, how much longer he could hold out, waiting for John. He knew that he had lost a lot of blood. His shirt, which had been removed, had been soaked in it. Every centimeter of Jenna's hands were covered in it.

Mrs Hudson had told them he would be here in ten minutes, after she had called him. That was five minutes ago.

Just then Sherlock became aware of the pounding foot steps coming up the stairs and through the door.


	2. Chapter 2

John's Side:

John was just getting ready to leave his new flat and head for Baker Street to get the remaining boxes of Sherlock's things and take them to a storage unit, when Mrs. Hudson had called.

"Hello," John answered.

"You need to get over here right away," Mrs. Hudson said.

"Is something wrong? Are you okay?" John asked as worry crept into his voice.

"A young lady, just showed up with Sherlock. He was bleeding," Mrs. Hudson replied.

John side and said, "Sherlock's dead. You were probably just having a nightmare."

"It looked like he had been shot," Mrs. Hudson said.

"Are you sure it was him?" John asked.

For the past week rumors of a familiar face roaming around London had been milling around. A good percentage, believed that it was the great Sherlock Holmes' ghost, haunting the city.

"I'm positive it was him. I'd recognize those strange colored eyes of his anywhere," Mrs Hudson said.

John put two and two together and said, "I'll be there in ten minutes."

He hung up the phone, tossing it on his desk. Then he ran into his room, grabbing his old army medical bag.

* * *

John sat in the back of the cab, as thoughts swirled his mind. How badly was Sherlock injured? Why hadn't he gone to the hospital? Who hurt him? Why did they hurt him? How did he manage to fake jumping off a building? Who was the girl Mrs. Hudson had mentioned? Where had he been hiding? Why did he fake his death? Did any of this have to do with Moriarty?

The cab pulled up to 221B Baker Street. John paid the driver, then jumped out of the taxi and rushed into the building. He ran up the stairs and through the open door.

On the couch lay a very pale, Sherlock Holmes. Next to him on her knees was a young woman with blood covered hands pressing against his left shoulder.

"John?" Sherlock guess. His voice was small and weak.

John stepped closer and knelt down next to the woman.

"I'm here, Sherlock," John said.

He needed to see how bad the wound was, but the woman seemed to refusing to move, even though he was here.

"I need you to move out of the way," John said in a soft tone to the woman.

Reluctantly the woman removed her hands, stood up and backed away. It was clear the she was on the verge of tears.

John took a close look at Sherlock's shoulder, then opened the medical bag and got the things he needed out of it.

"You can help him?" the woman behind him asked.

"I'm going to do my best," John replied. "I need you to go downstairs and wait with Mrs. Hudson."

John listened to the sound of the woman's foot steps going down the stairs.

"What happened?" John asked Sherlock, knowing it would be best to keep the detective awake.

"Street thug... gun... high... bullet," Sherlock mumbled.

John took out a small vial and syringe saying, "I'm going to inject your shoulder with something to help numb the pain while I remove the bullet."

John never got to fancy with medical words around Sherlock. Whenever he did, Sherlock would just doze off, or get his gun and start shooting the wall.

John smirked at the memory of the time he came back to the flat hearing Sherlock firing his Army gun, while he filled the syringe.

"Who's the girl?" John asked.

"Half-sister," Sherlock answered.

John injected the painkiller into Sherlock's shoulder saying, "You never told me had a half-sister."

"Never asked," Sherlock replied.

While waiting for the medicine to take effect, John started cleaning off the blood around the wound, so that he could get a better looked.

"What's her name?" John asked.

"Jenna Chase," Sherlock said.

"Divorce," John guessed.

Sherlock gave him a small nod.

After the blood had been wiped away, John set to work. occasionally he would ask Sherlock simple questions to make sure he was still awake.

* * *

An hour or so later, John had successfully removed an intact bullet from Sherlock's shoulder, closed the wound, stitched it and put gauze and medical tape over it.

Now Sherlock was resting some what peacefully on the couch. He still looked very pale from the blood loss.

John made his way downstairs to talk to Jenna and Mrs. Hudson. Hopefully Jenna could also answer the questions Sherlock couldn't answer at the time.

He found both of them sitting in Mrs. Hudson kitchen. Neither of them were talking, but as soon as Jenna saw him she was on her feet.

She had been cleaned up. She was in a fresh shirt. Her hands were cleaned and held no trace that they preformed the task of helping save Sherlock's life.

"Well?" she asked.

That's when John realized that she had an American accent. He just assumed that she was lived in London somewhere.

"I removed the bullet, and patched him up. He's resting right now, but he's very pale from blood loss," John replied.

Never in his wildest dreams, would he think he's be telling someone Sherlock's medical condition.

Jenna sat back down, relieved that Sherlock was okay.

"Um, would you like to go for a walk," John offered. "There are somethings I would like to ask. I'm hoping you can answer them."

Jenna looked at him and said, "I could use some fresh air."


	3. Chapter 3

John's Side Continued:

John and Jenna were sitting outside a small cafe, drinking hot chocolate and talking.

"That doesn't sound like some place he would go," John said, when Jenna told him where Sherlock had been hiding.

"No wants to go there unless you're a tourist or really old," Jenna replied. "It's gets boring after a while. Nothing fun to do."

"How did you keep him from shooting holes in the wall?" John asked.

"We went somewhere every weekend," Jenna answered.

"Sherlock said you were his half-sister. I don't see how," John stated.

"Parents got a divorce when I was seven. Mom took me and we moved to Panama City," Jenna said. "Occasionally Sherlock would come and visit for a couple of weeks."

"What caused the divorce?" John asked. "If you don't mind my asking."

"My mom is crazy and delusional. She thought that Dad was committing some sort of crime and left," Jenna explained.

"I guess with all your time in America, that you lost your accent," John guessed.

"What would make you think that?" Jenna asked in a British accent.

"How do you do that?" John asked amazed.

"It helps having parents from different countries," Jenna replied, in an American accent.

"That's pretty cool," John admitted.

"I learned how to switch accents real quick, when I got made fun of for being British," Jenna said.

"Not many British in Panama City?" John asked.

"Only a few," Jenna replied looking into her cup of hot chocolate.

"Why did Sherlock come back?" John asked, switching subjects.

"Moriarty's vast web of connections and employees was finally destroyed, so he decided to come home and let everyone he knows that he's alive," Jenna explained.

"Who knows that he's alive?" John asked.

"Mycroft and Molly Hooper, but they've known since the beginning," Jenna answered.

"Why didn't he tell me?" John asked.

"He wanted make it look more believable. He knew that if you thought he was dead Moriarty's people would have no trouble believing it as well," Jenna said. "He did what he had to do to keep you safe."

John fell silent. Sherlock actually cared that he was safe from harm's way. He faked his own death so that no one else would get hurt. He was simply returning a favor

"He was returning the favor," John said quietly.

"The bomb at the pool," Jenna guessed.

John just looked at her, wondering how she knew that. Then it clicked, Sherlock told her.

"Sherly still has nightmares about it," Jenna said.

"Sherly?" John asked.

"My nickname for him. I couldn't pronounce his name when I was younger. So I called him Sherly and the name stuck," Jenna explained. "I'm the only one who gets to call him that, so don't go thinking about using it."

John suppressed the idea of using this new knowledge and got rid of his forming smile.

"Wouldn't dream of it," John said.

"Yes you were," Jenna stated.

"Maybe," John said as he took a sip of his hot chocolate.

"Should we be getting back. He might wake up confused," Jenna suggested.

"With the blood loss, he might not be conscious until sometime tomorrow, but you're right we should back," John said.

* * *

John decided to take a detour, back to 221B. He had asked Jenna to show him where the thug shot Sherlock.

John knelt down next to the pool of now dry blood and was surprised at how little.

"You said, that his shirt was soaked in blood?" John asked.

"Yeah, by the time we were to the flat, it was drenched," Jenna replied. "I had Mrs Hudson put it a grocery bag."

"Smart," John said standing up. "I'm going to call Lestrade. Hopefully he's still at Scotland Yard."

John took out his phone and dialed a number he hadn't dialed in in three numbers. He remembered the number with such ease. It felt so good to be dialing the number. It felt like it old times, when he and Sherlock were helping the Yard catch the criminal.

John put the phone to his ear and waiting for Lestrade to pick up.

One ring. Two ring. Three ring. Four rin...

"Hello?" a familiar voice asked.

"Hi Detective Inspector Lestrade. It's John Watson," John said, trying to sound as formal as possible.

"What can I do for you, Doctor?" Lestrade asked.

"You won't believe me unless you see it for yourself," John replied.

"Believe what?" Lestrade asked.

"Just get come over the Baker Street," John requested.

"What's this about, John?" Lestrade asked.

"A mutual friend," John said before hanging up.


	4. Chapter 4

Lestrade's Side:

A mutual friend, Lestrade thought as he jogged toward his car. He surely can't mean Sherlock Holmes.

While driving to Baker Street the more Lestrade thought that it could involve Holmes. He had overheard Anderson talking to Donovan about seeing someone who resembled the genius detective.

The closer he got to his destination, the more he believed that this was about Holmes. Why else would have John Watson called him anyways. That man hadn't talked to him since the day Holmes jumped, but that was only to give his statement.

Lestrade pulled up to 221B and got out. He was greeted by a young woman, who seemed oddly familiar to him.

"Inspector Lestrade," the woman said politely.

"Ma'am," Lestrade said with a respectful nod.

"You should have brought some CSU's," the woman stated.

"Why?" Lestrade asked.

"You'll find out soon enough," the woman replied. "Follow me."

"You look familiar," Lestrade said as he followed the woman.

"I work for Mycroft," Anthea answered, as she lead him up to a flat that that he had been in many times.

The last time he was here, was to unwillingly arrest Sherlock Holmes for suspicion of kidnapping those little kids. Everyday for the past three years, he regretted his decision to do that. Moriarty had tricked everyone in London that Holmes was a fraud. Only a few still to believe that he wasn't. He was one of the believers. He didn't buy what the papers said about the man.

Lestrade stood in the doorway of the flat. Inside the sitting room was Mycroft Holmes, John Watson, and another young woman who was on the floor next to the couch, holding something.

"Lestrade," Mycroft said walking toward him with an outstreched hand.

Lestrade didn't shake it. He knew what he had done. The bastard had told Moriarty his own brother's life story.

"What's going?" Lestrade asked.

"Sherlock is alive," John said. "He faked his death to protect us from Moriarty's people."

"Where is he?" Lestrade asked.

John tilted his head toward the couch and said. "Come in."

Lestrade came in. He looked over at the couch and noticed the unconscious form of the one and only Sherlock Holmes. The man was paler than he used to be. Then he noticed the gauze and medical tape placed over his left shoulder and put the pieces together.

He looked at the young woman and saw that she holding Sherlock's hand. Girlfriend? Friend? Family member? Had to be a family member, she gave off the same vibe Sherlock did. Probably a sister.

"What happened?" Lestrade asked finally.

"A thug shot him, when we didn't have any money to give him," the woman replied as she released Sherlock's hand and faced him.

"The thug probably wasn't thinking since Sherlock Holmes is supposedly dead and most likely using," Mycroft said. "I already have my people looking for the person Jenna describe."

Jenna must be the sister's name, Lestrade thought.

Lestrade looked at the older Holmes, giving him the evil eye. "What are you even doing here?"

"The minute I found out. I came right over here," Mycroft replied, calmly.

"He's here to make sure that there's no media," John stated. "We know all to well he has the highest amount of concern for Sherlock's safety."

Lestrade detected sarcasm in John's comment.

"Excuse, but I was the one that helped him get to that stupid little state in America," Mycroft argued.

"Why do you lie, Mycroft?" Jenna asked. "You know very well that I helped Sherlock get to Florida."

"Politics," Lestrade answered. "He just want's to cover his own selfish ass."

Jenna stepped into Mycroft's personal space and said, "You're the reason Sherly had to fake his death, so I suggest you just leave while you still can. We don't need you, your people or resources."

Lestrade picked up on her tone. She sounded downright murderous. It was like, get out before I push you off Big Ben.

"You're about to make the biggest mistake in your life," Mycroft said as he walked toward the door. "Good luck getting through your last year of college without my help."

"Get out your political ass out of here and never come back," Jenna shot back as she walked over to the door and slammed it shut.

Lestrade just stared at her. She was impressive. She got into a politician's face, told him off, kicked him out and disowned him in less than three minutes. She was clearly head strong and doesn't back down from a fight.

"I don't even think Sherlock could say those things to the bastard," Lestrade stated.

"He thinks of him as an arch-enemy. I don't blame him," John chimed in.

"Okay, now would one of you like to tell me how he's alive," Lestrade requested becoming all business.

* * *

It took John and Jenna at least two hours to catch Lestrade up on the whole faked suicide and getting shot by a thug ordeal.

Jenna had down most of the talking since she helped Sherlock hide. John just occasionally chimed in with what he knew.

"Do you have any evidence to hand over?" Lestrade asked when they were done talking.

"A blood drenched shirt and an intact bullet," John replied.

"Okay go get them," Lestrade said.

John stood up and walked out of the flat. Jenna just sat down on the floor next to Sherlock, who had regained a little color. Lestrade looked at his watch. It was a little past midnight. He looked at Jenna and decided to make conversation.

"So, America?" Lestrade asked.

"Mum's American," Jenna said. "She took me back with her after the divorce. I was seven."

"You and Sherlock maintained a connection though," Lestrade noted.

"He'd come visit a few times a year for a couple of weeks each time. Birthday. Christmas. Halloween," Jenna replied.

"Halloween?" Lestrade asked.

"He also helped with my costumes when I was kid and take me trick or treating. When I got older, he helped me throw Halloween parties," Jenna clarified.

Just then Sherlock let out a small, barely audible groan.

Lestrade got out of the man's line of sight in case he woke up. The detective might not like the fact that he was here.


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock's Side:

Sherlock had had briefly regained conscious, but didn't open his eyes or make a noise while he listened to four people talking. John, Mycroft, Jenna and Lestrade.

He listened as Jenna kicked out Mycroft. He listened as Lestrade and John commented on her being brave enough to do such a thing. That's when he passed out again. He was to tired to listen to anymore of the conversation.

The next time he regained consciousness, he let a small groan when he felt the tear-jerking pain in his shoulder. He then heard someone walking toward the kitchen.

Probably Lestrade, he thought.

He felt Jenna holding his hand. He gave her hand a small, squeeze to let her know that he awake.

"Can you open you eyes, Sherly?" he heard Jenna asked.

"To tired," Sherlock replied. His voice just barely above a whisper.

It was true, he didn't have the energy to do such a small task. He was glad to have just enough energy to talk.

"Do you know where you are?" Jenna asked.

Sherlock thought for a moment as he familiarized himself with his surrounding and worked on trying to remember the last thing that happened before blacking out completely

"221B," Sherlock replied finally. "Baker Street."

Just then he heard someone walk into the flat. It had to be John. If he had been here a minute before, Sherlock would have had to force his eyes open, just to look at his best friend and former flat-mate.

"He's awake, John," Jenna said, probably looking at John.

"Barely awake," Sherlock corrected.

"What's that last thing you remember?" John asked, making his way towards Sherlock.

"A bullet being removed from my shoulder," Sherlock replied, tiredly.

"Any pain?" John asked.

"Yes," Sherlock admitted. "Whatever painkiller you injected into my shoulder has officially worn off."

"I could get you a few Advil to take, so that you can rest for the remainder of the night," John offered.

"Maybe later," Sherlock mumbled as he drifted off into unconsciousness again.

* * *

The next time Sherlock woke up, the sun was shining in his face and he could hear the same three people from when he woke up. Lestrade was snoring in one of the armchairs Jenna and John were in the kitchen talking. No wait...

"So I was thinking that made until Sherlock's back on his feet. I could show you places in London he wouldn't dare go to or show you," John said.

Jenna giggled and said, "I'd love that."

Oh God. They're planning a date and flirting, Sherlock thought.

Before Sherlock could think of anything else, he became aware of the pain in his shoulder, causing him to groan loudly.

"Sherlock," he heard John say as he moved toward up him.

Sherlock was now sitting up, hunched over with his right over hand over his injured shoulder.

"Jenna grab the Advil and get a glass of water," he heard John say, but didn't care.

He listened as Jenna did what she was told.

"How bad is the pain?" John asked him. "Scale of one to ten."

"Eleven," Sherlock replied through clenched teeth as he heard Jenna walk over to him.

"How many?" she asked John.

"Three should do just fine," John replied.

Sherlock forced his eyes opened and looked at the two of them. Both their faces were masked with concern. Concern for him. And all because some street thug decided to shoot him.

"Take these," John told him as he handed him three pills. "They should help with the pain."

Sherlock took the pills, gratefully.

Jenna knelt down next to him, holding a glass of water. "Here, drink some water."

Sherlock felt useless, as he drank the water. The pain was so bad that he took painkillers. He would never result to such an act, no matter how much pain he was in.

"We should get you off the couch and into a bed," John suggested.

"But?" Sherlock asked knowing that there was more.

"I don't think you'll manage to stay awake long enough for a trip to my flat," John replied, taking the glass from him.

"The hotel," Jenna offered.

"To many people," Sherlock said.

"Well just lay back down. You need to get a lot of rest," John said.

Sherlock didn't need to be told twice. He was tired to try and argue


End file.
